


Midnight Visitor

by milokno



Series: Home [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Oneshot, i honestly dont know how to tag this one, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milokno/pseuds/milokno
Summary: Chase continues to stare down at the doormat. His eyes occasionally flicker down to Henrik’s sock-clad feet. Henrik isn’t sure that the other man has blinked once since he opened the door. He’s a few seconds away from opening his mouth and repeating himself when he hears Chase’s voice.”She left me.”
Relationships: Chase Brody/Stacy Brody
Series: Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933381
Kudos: 14





	Midnight Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request from dylenl on tumblr!! I had a lot of fun with this one, so thank you!! (Requests are technically still open so-)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!!
> 
> Come see me on [tumblr](https://milo-kno.tumblr.com/), and enjoy!
> 
> \- Milo

Henrik’s been performing ten operations a day. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. He’s aware that, in reality, the number is much smaller than that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s losing half of the patients he _has_ been operating on.

He sleeps at the desk in his office on the nights he ends a surgery with a flatline. The memory of the nurse’s voice echoes in his head, and their words bounce off of crisp, white walls. In the dark, the walls always seem to close in on him. He’d never been claustrophobic before, and he doesn’t know why he is now.

He’ll be sure to cancel his subscription before the free trial ends.

He stays at the hospital on those nights because he can’t trust that he’ll be able to drive himself home without doing something stupid. Something that he’d only end up regretting by the time the sun started to rise, if he ever got to see it again.

To say the least, Henrik hasn’t been able to have much time to himself lately.

Tonight, however, he managed to drive himself home. It’s odd to see his house again, after all the days that have passed. It’s bigger than he remembers it being, but that might just be because he’s been trapped in his office for the past week.

The moment he stepped through the front door, the weight on his shoulders became all the more apparent. The bags under his eyes were more visible, and, Christ, was his hair always this greasy?

After changing into a pair of sweatpants, as well as a normal t-shirt, he popped one of those noodle bowls into the microwave. He lit a candle, one of which is reserved for evenings such as this one, and he pulled a book off of the shelf in his living room. He doesn’t remember what the book’s about, but he supposed there was a reason he got it. Now that he thinks about it, Henrik doesn’t even remember when he bought it.

Huh.

He’s been working too much.

Henrik’s curled up on the oversized, green chair in his living room. His legs are propped up on the top of the armrest, and his socked feet are dangling above wooden floors. The beige blanket thrown over his legs has a nice weight to it.

The Cup-O-Noodles he’d prepared a few moments before is resting on his chest, just above where his heart is. He stabs the golden noodles with his fork. He spins his fingers to get as much of it onto his utensil before he brings the fork up to his lips and, very elegantly, shoves the food into his mouth.

The Yankee Candle on the table beside him has been burning for a couple minutes now. The scent of _Sun & Sand_ has started to spread in the living room. While his shoulders are still tense, and the bags under his eyes haven’t gone away, this is the calmest he’s been in a long time. God, he needs a vacation, doesn’t he?

Henrik’s on the last page of chapter one when the doorbell rings. It’s late, or, at the very least, it’s too late for somebody to be at his front door. The sun had already set when he started driving home, and it’s been a good hour or two since then.

He turns his body to the side, and his legs slide off of the armrest. His socked feet make a soft _thud_ when they hit the floor. He sets his book face down onto the table beside the candle. His eyes flicker down to his bowl of noodles, which is still resting on his chest. He grabs the bowl, and with his left hand his digs his fork into the noodles.

He stands from the chair, the bowl still in his hand. His blanket crumples by his feet, and he leaves it on the floor. His feet tap against the floor as he walks towards the door. As he nears it, there are four quick knocks on the door.

Around the noodles in his mouth, he shouts, “I’m coming!” His voice is harsh, and it’s just as tense as his back feels. He sets the bowl of noodles onto the entryway table beside the door. He turns the lock with his index finger and his thumb, and he rubs at the skin under his eye with the back of his other hand. He mumbles a soft, “Christ.”

And then he throws open the door.

On the other side of the door, standing in the rain, is Chase.

Chase’s usually bright eyes are focused on the doormat beneath his feet. It’s been a while since the two of them talked. It’s not been years, there’s no way in hell either of them would let that happen, but it has been a month or two.

Nevertheless, the name is uncertain on Henrik’s tongue, “Chase?”

Chase continues to stare down at the doormat. His eyes occasionally flicker down to Henrik’s sock-clad feet. Henrik isn’t sure that the other man has blinked once since he opened the door. He’s a few seconds away from opening his mouth and repeating himself when he hears Chase’s voice.

”She left me.”

The rain eats up the other man’s words the moment they leave his lips.

”Stacy left—” Henrik doesn’t want to finish that sentence. He _can’t_. His voice is wavering, lopsided, when he continues, “You had a disagreement, I’m sure, but—”

”Henrik, she’s gone! She took the kids.” Chase’s voice, which had been gobbled up by the rain just a few moments ago, is loud. He’s not yelling, per se, but his voice is booming, and now Henrik can’t think. None of his thoughts are coherent.

Henrik blinks once, then twice. He realizes that he hasn’t moved, or said anything, for some time. The thing that brought him out of his dazed state is Chase’s sniffling and— oh, _fuck_. Big, ugly tears are running down Chase’s cheeks. They fall off his chin, and Henrik watches them splatter onto the doormat.

Their eyes meet.

”I can’t—” Chase cuts himself off. He makes a noise, somewhere between a choke and a sob, and then he forces himself to continue. “I can’t go home.” It’s a question, a plea. Henrik mentally kicks himself for making him have to _ask_.

”Come inside,” Henrik says. “I don’t want you to get sick.

He leaves the bowl of noodles on the entryway table.


End file.
